Chapter 31:

[Setting: The sunlit courtyard of the Red Keep, where the massive dragon Fenrir lands with a thunderous beat of his wings. King Aegon VI dismounts, his riding leathers covered in soot from the journey. His three eldest children - Prince Daeron, Prince Daemon, and Princess Alyssa - approach with their newly hatched dragons. Drogon (black with crimson markings), Smaug (bronze), and Meraxes (speckled gold-and-green) scamper at their heels, still small but already fiery.]

Daeron: (bowing) Father. Dragonstone is well?

Aegon VI: (dusting off his sleeves) Aside from Viserys declaring himself "Lord of All Dragons" and nearly burning his eyebrows off? Perfectly calm.

Alyssa: (grinning) So nothing's changed then.

Daemon: (petting Smaug) Did you bring us presents from your vacation?

Aegon VI: (raising an eyebrow) Yes, I brought you the continued stability of the realm. You're welcome.

[The baby dragons suddenly notice Fenrir and immediately puff up, hissing. The massive elder dragon simply exhales a plume of smoke, making them all scramble behind their riders.]

Daeron: (scooping up Drogon) They're... still learning.

Aegon VI: (amused) Clearly. How's the capital fared under your regency?

Alyssa: (counting on fingers) Only two small fires, one diplomatic incident with Dorne, and Tywin threatened to resign three times.

Daeron: (defensive) In my defense, Meraxes started that fire in the kitchens because she smelled fish.

Daemon: (patting Smaug) Mine only burned the boring tapestries. You're welcome.

Aegon VI: (pinching the bridge of his nose) I leave for two weeks...

[Suddenly, Meraxes flaps her wings and takes an unsteady flight toward Fenrir, landing clumsily on his massive tail. The ancient dragon turns his head slowly to observe the hatchling.]

Alyssa: (gasping) Meraxes, no!

Fenrir: (snorts, sending a small flame that singes Meraxes' tail)

[Meraxes squeals and comes scrambling back to Alyssa, hiding under her cloak.]

Aegon VI: (chuckling) Consider that your first lesson in dragon hierarchy.

Daeron: (sobering) Father... have you thought about how we handle Rhaegar? Now that he's the only one without...

Aegon VI: (sighing) I know. Five dragons hatch, and not one goes to my heir. The gods have a cruel sense of humor.

Daemon: (shrugging) Maybe it's a sign he should stop kidnapping maidens and focus on statecraft.

Alyssa: (elbowing him) Not helping.

[A servant approaches hesitantly, eyeing the dragons nervously.]

Servant: (bowing) Your Grace, word from the Riverlands. Prince Rhaegar's forces have clashed with Robert's again near Stoney Sept. Casualties were...

Aegon VI: (holding up a hand) Spare me the numbers. Any word from Rhaegar himself?

Servant: (shifting uncomfortably) He... asked again about the status of the dragon eggs, Your Grace.

[Awkward silence. All eyes drift to the baby dragons now chewing on various pieces of the courtyard.]

Daeron: (clearing throat) Should we... tell him?

Aegon VI: (dryly) "Dear Rhaegar, while you were off playing war, all your siblings got dragons. Even the babies. Sorry. Love, Father."

Alyssa: (snickering) Add a smiley face. It softens the blow.

Daemon: (serious for once) He's going to take this badly. The prophecy, the dragon must have three heads...

Aegon VI: (watching Fenrir) Then we'll have to hope Tiamat lays more eggs soon. Until then... (looks at his children) we keep training these little monsters. Carefully.

[Meraxes chooses this moment to sneeze, sending a small fireball into a nearby hedge. The group watches as it begins to smolder.]

Alyssa: (cheerful) I'll get the water!

Daeron: (muttering) I'll get the Maester. Again.

[Fenrir rumbles in what might be dragon laughter as the scene fades to the sound of crackling flames and exasperated sighs.]

[Setting: The Small Council chamber in the Red Keep, where afternoon sunlight streams through stained glass windows, casting colorful patterns across the map-strewn table. King Aegon VI lounges in his high-backed chair, looking more relaxed than he has in months. Tywin Lannister sits rigidly across from him, fingers steepled, as servants pour wine and scurry out.]

Aegon VI: (raising his goblet) Two weeks without a single petitioner screaming about taxes. I'd almost forgotten what peace smelled like.

Tywin: (dry) It smells like dragon smoke, apparently. (Nods toward the window where Fenrir's massive tail is visible)

Aegon VI: (grinning) Better than the usual stench of King's Landing.

[Tywin's eye twitches at a faint screeching sound from the courtyard below, where the baby dragons are presumably causing havoc.]

Tywin: Your Grace, while you were... vacationing, the situation with Prince Rhaegar has grown more complicated.

Aegon VI: (sighing) Let me guess - he's written another twelve-foot scroll about prophecies?

Tywin: Worse. He's won three battles in the Riverlands. The lords are calling him "the Dragonless Prince" behind his back. (Pauses) And now with Prince Aegon VII's birth...

Aegon VI: (leaning forward) Ah yes. My miracle grandson. Born just as five dragons hatch for everyone except his father. The gods do love their jests.

Tywin: (steepling fingers) This changes the succession calculus. If Rhaegar prevails, his line remains primary - dragon or no dragon. Your son Daeron and my grandchildren become eternal spares.

Aegon VI: (raising an eyebrow) How very... Lannister of you to phrase it that way.

[A muffled explosion sounds from the courtyard. Both men pause. A distant voice yells "PRINCESS ALYSSA'S DRAGON DID IT!"]

Tywin: (ignoring the commotion) You must see the precarious position this puts House Lannister in. My daughter is married to your heir's heir. If Rhaegar's line continues to take precedence—

Aegon VI: (holding up a hand) Let me stop you there, old friend. (Leans in) Whatever scheme is brewing behind those impressive eyebrows - no.

Tywin: (icy) I haven't proposed anything.

Aegon VI: (chuckling) You don't have to. I've known you since we were boys stealing sweets from the kitchen. That's your "I'm considering something extremely dramatic" face.

[A servant bursts in, covered in soot.]

Servant: (panicked) Your Grace! Prince Daemon's dragon just set fire to the—

Aegon VI: (waving a hand) The hedges again? Tell the gardeners to plant something less flammable.

Tywin: (as the servant flees) This is precisely the problem. Your legitimate sons have dragons. Rhaegar does not. The realm will never accept—

Aegon VI: (suddenly sharp) The realm will accept what I decide. Just as it accepted a Targaryen bastard inheriting Storm's End. Just as it accepted my sister as my queen. (Calmer) Rhaegar remains my heir. That hasn't changed.

Tywin: (cool) Even though all your other children are now dragonriders?

[The door creaks open to reveal Prince Daeron, baby Drogon perched on his shoulder chewing his collar. He freezes at the tension in the room.]

Daeron: (awkward) Am I... interrupting?

Aegon VI: (cheerful) Perfect timing! Your good-father was just explaining why you should overthrow your cousin.

Daeron: (horrified) WHAT?

Tywin: (pinching the bridge of his nose) That is not what I—

Drogon: (belches a tiny flame that sets Tywin's documents smoldering)

Aegon VI: (grinning as Tywin scowls at the singed papers) See? Even the dragons agree. No schemes, no dramatic rearrangements. (Stands) Now if you'll excuse me, I believe my daughter's dragon is attempting to eat the Tower of the Hand.

[As Aegon strides out, Daeron lingers awkwardly. Tywin methodically pats out the embers on his papers.]

Daeron: (quiet) He's right, you know. I don't want Rhaegar's seat.

Tywin: (not looking up) It's not about what you want, boy. It's about what the realm needs.

Drogon: (hisses at Tywin)

[Fade to the sound of distant crashing and Alyssa yelling "MERAXES, NO!" as the baby dragons continue their reign of terror.]

[Setting: The Hand of the King's office in the Red Keep, where Tywin Lannister sits behind a massive oak desk reviewing scrolls. The room smells of ink and the faint smoke drifting in from the courtyard where the baby dragons play. Cersei Lannister sweeps in without knocking, her green eyes flashing with barely-contained frustration.]

Cersei: (coolly) Father. I hear you've been discussing my husband's future with the king.

Tywin: (not looking up) If by discussing, you mean being told no in increasingly creative ways, then yes.

Cersei: (slamming her hands on the desk) Daeron has a dragon now. Rhaegar doesn't. The realm will never follow a dragonless king when there's a dragonrider right there!

Tywin: (finally meeting her gaze) The realm will follow what the king decrees. And the king, for reasons known only to himself and his ghosts, insists Rhaegar remains heir.

Cersei: (mocking) Because of guilt? Over a tragedy decades old?

Tywin: (dry) If you've found a way to reason with Targaryen sentimentality, by all means, enlighten me.

[A distant crash echoes from the courtyard, followed by a screech that could only be Drogon. Cersei's eye twitches.]

Cersei: (seething) So we're just to sit quietly while Daeron plays second fiddle to Rhaegar forever? While our blood is passed over?

Tywin: (leaning back) I didn't say that.

Cersei: (smirking) Ah. So there is a plan.

Tywin: (cool) There's always a plan. But it requires patience. The king won't live forever. And Rhaegar… (trails off meaningfully)

Cersei: (raising a brow) Is currently at war with Robert Baratheon. How terribly dangerous that must be.

Tywin: (giving her a warning look) Careful, Cersei.

Cersei: (innocently) I'm simply observing. War is unpredictable. And if something were to happen to Rhaegar, well… (smiles sweetly) The line of succession would fall to Daeron. And our sons.

Tywin: (icy) And if you breathe so much as a hint of that thought aloud, you'll undo decades of work.

[The door creaks open, revealing Prince Daeron himself, Drogon perched on his shoulder like a mischievous parrot. He blinks at the tension in the room.]

Daeron: (awkward) Am I interrupting?

Cersei: (smoothly) Not at all, husband. We were just discussing our bright future.

Drogon: (belches a tiny flame, setting a corner of Tywin's ledger on fire)

Tywin: (deadpan) How inspiring.

[Fade to the sound of Daeron frantically stomping out the flames while Cersei watches, her smile sharp enough to cut steel.]

[Setting: The Red Keep's courtyard bathed in golden afternoon light, where King Aegon VI watches Fenrir—his massive, battle-scarred dragon—gently nudge the much smaller hatchlings with his snout. Drogon, Smaug, and Meraxes tumble over each other like rowdy puppies, their tiny wings flapping as they snap playfully at Fenrir's tail. The air smells of smoke and charred meat from their recent feeding.]

Aegon VI: (amused) Careful, Fenrir. They may be small, but they've already burned through half the royal tapestries.

[Fenrir huffs a puff of smoke, as if unimpressed, when suddenly Varys materializes from the shadows, his silk robes whispering against the stone.]

Varys: (bowing) Your Grace. I do hope I'm not interrupting… dragon training?

Aegon VI: (not turning) Depends. Are you here to tell me they've set fire to something new?

Varys: (smiling faintly) Not today. Though Prince Viserys did attempt to ride his dragon off the Dragonpit roof yesterday.

Aegon VI: (sighing) Of course he did.

Varys: (sobering) More pressing news, I'm afraid. Our little birds whisper that both Robert and Prince Rhaegar are rallying their forces. The Trident appears to be their chosen… meeting ground.

[Aegon goes very still. Fenrir, sensing his rider's tension, lifts his head, golden eyes narrowing.]

Aegon VI: (quiet) The Trident. How poetic.

Varys: (nodding) Robert's forces march from the Vale, Rhaegar's from the south. If they clash there…

Aegon VI: (grim) It'll be a bloodbath.

[Meraxes chooses that moment to launch herself at Fenrir's tail, gnawing on a scale. The elder dragon flicks her off with a grumble, sending her tumbling into a bush.]

Varys: (watching the dragons) It's curious, isn't it? Five dragons hatch in a single moon, yet none for the man who needs one most.

Aegon VI: (sharp) If you're about to suggest the gods have a sense of humor, spare me.

Varys: (raising hands) I would never presume. Only… if Rhaegar falls at the Trident, and Robert with him, the realm will look to you to pick up the pieces.

Aegon VI: (staring at Fenrir) I know.

[A long silence. Drogon flaps onto Aegon's shoulder, chirping curiously. The king absently scratches under the dragon's chin.]

Varys: (softly) There's more. Lyanna Stark has been spotted near the God's Eye. Alone.

Aegon VI: (freezing) Alone?

Varys: (nodding) It seems our missing wolf has finally resurfaced.

[Fenrir suddenly growls, sensing his rider's spike of emotion. The hatchlings scatter as the great dragon spreads his wings, casting a shadow over them all.]

Aegon VI: (to Fenrir) Easy. (To Varys) Send word to Dragonstone. Rhaella and the children stay there until this is over.

Varys: (bowing) And the dragons?

Aegon VI: (watching Drogon puff smoke at Smaug) They're not ready for war. But Fenrir is.

[Fade to the sound of flapping wings and distant thunder—the storm brewing, both literal and political.]